


will to compromise

by escherzo



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Captivity, Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Power Imbalance, Sexual Slavery, Size Difference, Stomach Bulging, another other london, emphasis on the /extremely/ dubious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28226055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/pseuds/escherzo
Summary: He can't imagine taking it, but he's going to have to. It isn't a decision that's in his hands; it's a matter ofwhen, not if. Barret splays a possessive hand across his middle and looks down at him with eyes full of glittering greed, and he will slowly take everything he wants from Hamid, piece by piece.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Barret Racket
Comments: 20
Kudos: 41
Collections: Another Other London





	will to compromise

**Author's Note:**

> *waves hand generally at the nsfa enablers for all of this* love y'all ♥
> 
> mind the tags.

The collar weighs heavy around Hamid's neck.

It's solid, a dark, pure metal that keeps his magic suppressed, and every time he lifts his head, looks at the new world around him, the reminder that he is _owned_ now comes to his mind. Probably that's the point. Other London is alien to him--darker, and louder, than any place he has ever been, and even here, tucked away in this warm, well-appointed room that contrasts so sharply with the grime of the rest, he can still hear the clamor from outside. _I don't belong here_ , he keeps thinking, a hand to his neck. 

Not that it matters. This is where he lives now. The weight of the collar, and the copper ring on his finger, will not let him forget that. Forget that a week ago, he was hauled bodily, half-conscious, through the streets of Other London by two men he still doesn't know the names of, and the whole city chattered with it and stared at his limp and bruised body. He was brought to this building, as close to a palace as Other London has, and deposited in front of a man who looked him over with a critical, appraising eye, and said, “he'll do.” The man who owns him, now.

The men who brought him in looked down at him like he was a buck brought in from a hunt; he blinked up through his tears and tried to get his eyes to focus, and barely caught an exchange between them and the sharp-eyed man, something about _Saleh's boy_ and _pretty one, isn't he_ , and _you damaged him_ , and then the world went dark. 

He awoke to find himself on a large, comfortable bed with dark sheets, and almost let himself think for a moment that he was back home. And then, as he sat up, he felt the collar around his neck. He had no idea how long he had been out, but some of the bruises had begun to close, and most of his clothes were gone. There was a chain around his ankle. It was long, but it connected him to the bed, and there was a lock on the clasp that he did not have the key for. For the first day, he pretended to still be unconscious, and let himself give into panic, hugging his arms to his chest and trying to ignore how cold the metal felt against his skin. 

The man with the sharp eyes came to find him at the end of the day. The lights were off, and Hamid was huddled under the covers, curled in on himself, trying desperately to will everything away and keep his breathing even enough that he could pass for asleep. 

“Awake, then?” the man asked, and Hamid's breath came up short. He did not emerge from underneath the covers. “Do you know why you're here?”

“No,” Hamid said, and hated how shaky his voice came out. How vulnerable. He tried to straighten up in bed and give himself some semblance of dignity, and the chain around his ankle clanked against itself and rang out into the silence. “Where-- _why_ \--” 

“My name is Barret Racket. I rule six floors of Other London, and you belong to me now,” Barret said, lighting a candle at his bedside, and Hamid tried to hide himself further under the covers. He was an older man, with well-kept graying hair and soft, finely-made robes. Under other circumstances, Hamid would have almost thought him handsome. “Do you understand?” 

“ _No_ ,” Hamid said, trying to take a deep breath. “Why—why me?”

Barret's smile was a small, wry little thing. “Call it an old debt.” He reached out for Hamid, one hand cupping the side of his face with a thumb under his jaw—half holding him steady, half threat, and when Hamid didn't turn to look him in the eye he pressed his thumb in until Hamid's breath cut short. “I don't intend to mistreat you. Doing so unnecessarily would be—inconvenient for all of us. But I need you to understand the position you are in.” 

“O-okay,” Hamid said, because he had nothing else he could say. When Barret's mouth came down over his, Barret's fingers hooked underneath his collar, he closed his eyes and tried to kiss back as best as he could. He didn't want to find out what would happen if he didn't. Barret's tongue was warm in his mouth, his stubble rough against his cheeks, a shock of sensation to his system that made his breath come short. 

“Good,” Barret said as he broke the kiss and drew back, looking him up and down with an approving nod. He let Hamid go all at once and then pushed himself up from off the bed, and Hamid's racing heart lurched; he knew he was not hiding the confusion on his face. Barret smiled down at him. It was not a kind smile.

“You have injuries to recover from,” Barret said, turning his back to Hamid to make his way to the door. “I've seen to punishment for those involved. They were supposed to retrieve you, not damage you. You don't belong to them.”

 _You do belong to me, and I can damage you if I like,_ Hamid understood, and Barret gave him one last glance before leaving the room. There was something cold and glittering in his eyes. The exhaustion, and the damage to his body, was the only reason Hamid slept that night; every time he closed his eyes, he could feel Barret's gaze on him again. 

*

Barret didn't touch him on the second day, and a woman whose face he did not recognize came to undo the chain around his ankle on the third. 

“Don't need it,” she said, working the lock open with a spare pick between her teeth. “I'm keeping an eye on you now.” He could see the glint of three or four daggers on her, and shapes on her body where more might be hidden besides, and even with the ankle chains undone, he knew better than to run. 

He almost thought he might have been wrong about his purpose in this strange new place—merely a captive, a hostage to be treated well and then exchanged for something. The room he was put in was well-appointed, warm, the bed soft. There was a fire in the fireplace, and a bath attached with a tub so big he could drown in it, and no one stopped him from using it as much as he liked. His meals were brought to him by the woman whose name he still hadn't gotten—there was something familiar about her face, but he couldn't quite place it. They were rich, decadent things, like feasts at home, and he had nearly relaxed into thinking that maybe he could manage this when the ring on his finger grew hot. 

“Come to my office,” Barret's voice said in his head, and Hamid tugged at the ring, so hot it nearly hurt, but it didn't budge. Another thing to trap him, then.

“I don't know where your office is,” he said, hesitant, and got a laugh in response. 

“One door down on the left,” Barret said, and he did not say _don't try to run_ , but Hamid knew better than to do it anyway. Sometimes, just on the edges of his perception, he could hear the woman moving around outside his door. 

He made it as far as Barret's desk before he was put on his knees; he stumbled back to his room an hour later, his mouth red and lips bruised, and he curled up under the blankets with his arms wrapped around himself until the shaking subsided. “It's okay, everything's okay,” he told himself, trying not to think about the way his lips ached. He could still feel Barret's fingers in his hair. Still smell the sharp earthiness of his cologne.

Partway through the night, when Hamid was finally half-asleep, the door creaked open. Whoever it was did not turn on the light, but when Hamid breathed in he could smell that cologne, and all at once he knew exactly who the footsteps that were drawing closer to his bed belonged to.

Without a word, Barret climbed into bed and curled around him, bare chest to bare chest. One large hand came up to rest on the collar around Hamid's neck.

“ _Mine_ ,” he said softly, and Hamid closed his eyes, knowing it to be true. His chest ached.

*

His new life is a strange one; during the day, he is allowed in most parts of this building, but no further, allowed to spend as much time as he likes lazing around and sneaking snacks from the kitchen unless he is called upon. Barret has more books than Hamid expected, and waves Hamid towards them indulgently. “I'm not an unreasonable man, pet,” he says, and Hamid gathers up a handful of books on magic and clutches them to his chest, nodding, half afraid if he lingers they'll be taken away.

The others in the compound are harder to deal with; he has lost track of how many wandering eyes have given him a once-over, eyes full of greed until they catch sight of the ring around his finger. He is owned, visibly, and Barret's claim means something to them. Means they will not hurt him. Mostly. One, on the fifth day, tries his luck but doesn't get very far. Barret walks in just as the man has Hamid pinned, and his expression doesn't change, but he clicks his fingers and the man has a knife to his throat and two others pulling him off Hamid before Hamid can so much as blink. 

“He'll be dealt with,” Barret tells Hamid with a voice of steel, and Hamid never sees the man again; he can guess what sorts of punishments Barret might consider. Barret Racket does not look half as dangerous as he is, and he looks like a dangerous man.

“Thank you,” Hamid chokes out, and Barret gives him a nod that is almost fond. A scrap of affection. He's starved for it in this place. Everyone looks at him like he is a toy that they would very much like to claim if it wouldn't mean their life would be forfeit, and it's only keeping Barret happy, making Barret _like_ him, that keeps him safe at all. And so when Barret calls him to his office, now, he folds to his knees without being asked and lets Barret curl a possessive hand around his neck, allows kisses that make his cheeks burn with stubble, tries to let himself go limp and pliant as Barret's hands map out his body. A toy to use. Stress relief. A little bright spot in Barret's day. It's how he's going to stay alive here.

Barret hasn't fucked him yet. He knows, on some level, that that's coming, but he can barely fit Barret into his mouth, his lips straining around the girth of him, and it leaves him aching for hours afterwards. He's so _small_ compared to Barret; when Barret curls up behind him to sleep at night and pulls him close, his whole body reaches from thigh to chest and no further. He knows Barret likes that. Likes watching him struggle to take him into his mouth, likes the way his hand doesn't quite fit around his cock and he has to use both. He's rutted between Hamid's thighs in the morning, with Hamid half-awake and his thoughts a muddled mess; Hamid's heart beat so fast he was nearly sick, half-caught between terror and arousal, as Barret's cock teased over his hole. The size of it. 

He can't imagine taking it, but he's going to have to. It isn't a decision that's in his hands; it's a matter of _when_ , not if. Barret splays a possessive hand across his middle and looks down at him with eyes full of glittering greed, and he will slowly take everything he wants from Hamid, piece by piece. 

*

Hamid is half-asleep when Barret comes in, running a frustrated hand through his hair, his eyes flashing with anger. He looks like he hasn't slept properly; his spot in their bed was cold when he woke this morning. There have been negotiations going on with the other levels of Other London, Hamid knows, and they haven't been going well; over the last day or two, Barret has started telling him about how all of that fits together. He is coming to one of the next negotiations—more as a prize to be shown off than anyone asked to participate, he suspects, Barret's pretty, collared pet from Upper London, but there's still an expectation that he should not _disappoint_. That he needs to understand what is being discussed and help be Barret's eyes and ears in the room.

Barret stands by his window, back to Hamid, when he explains all of that, and Hamid is reminded, all at once, of his father.

“Any luck?” Hamid asks softly, blinking sleep from his eyes, and Barret swears under his breath and starts undoing the buttons of his waistcoat. 

“No,” Barret says shortly, although Hamid gets the sense that the anger is not directed at him. “They're being damnably _stubborn_. I don't plan to forget it.” He strips off his shirt and lets it fall forgotten to the floor and runs a hand through his hair again before reaching into the bedside table and pulling out a bottle that Hamid has seen before, but never used. It's small, full of something slick and clear, and Barret sets it atop the table and sets to work at his trousers. Hamid closes his eyes for a moment. So it's time, then. 

He pulls down his pants, the only clothing he wears to bed these days, with shaking hands, and the adrenaline that starts to pound through him leaves him sensitized to touch as Barret climbs onto the bed. Barret's not hard yet, but he winds his fingers into Hamid's hair and pulls him forward into the vee of his widening legs, and Hamid would try to nod if he could move his head at all. Barret's grip on him is tight as Hamid fits a careful hand around as much of Barret's cock as he can manage and dips his head down to suck it into his mouth, his thighs shaking with the strain of being bent over like this. He wants to reach a hand out to steady himself on the bed, but he doesn't have enough room to move, and so he goes limp in Barret's hands and lets Barret fuck into his mouth slowly, savoring the tight stretch, the little choked off noises Hamid makes as he pushes deeper. Hamid tries to breathe through his nose as best as he can and allow it, trying to move his tongue in the way Barret likes, and gets a harsher snap of the hips for his trouble that makes him gag outright. His whole body shudders with it. 

“Enough,” Barret says, dragging Hamid off his cock with a slick noise, a line of spit connecting from the head of it to Hamid's mouth that glistens in the low light. He doesn't tell Hamid to lay back, but he puts one hand on Hamid's shoulder and the other on the center of his chest and _pushes_ , until all Hamid can do is lie back. His hand is so big on Hamid's chest. Probably he could keep Hamid pinned just with this. 

Hamid closes his eyes and spreads his legs obediently, because he knows it's expected of him, and tries to ignore how fast his heart is beating as he hears the sound of the bottle being uncorked. He's half-hard, his whole body sending confused signals as Barret's hand shifts from his chest to his thigh and pushes it wider still. There is no escape from any of this, he knows. Barret's fingers, each one nearly the width of two of his, slide up his thigh, slicked with the oil, and one presses against his hole. It doesn't push in right away, just rubs at his entrance over and over until he moans without meaning to, a high, reedy thing, his traitorous body pushing back into the touch and wanting _more_. Maybe it'll just be Barret's fingers tonight. He might be able to take that. Barret has not been gentle with him so far, but he hasn't been cruel, either; maybe he understands that anything else would be too much. 

The noise seems to be what Barret is waiting for; he grips Hamid's thigh tighter with one hand and presses in slow, so slow, with one finger, sinking into Hamid slow and inexorable, and Hamid tries to relax and not fight the intrusion, even as it goes deeper than anything else he's ever taken. Anything he's even thought about taking. Barret gives him a moment to adjust and then starts to fuck him with his finger, curling it inside Hamid, and at first it just feels _strange_ , until Barret curls his fingers just right and then Hamid makes another noise, his eyes going wide and his thighs spreading further, a sudden bolt of heat and want and _more_ going through him. Barret smiles like a predator about to pounce and with the next movement, curls his fingers harder at the same spot, and Hamid's cock, already half-hard, begins to fill faster, and if his hips weren't pinned by the heavy hand on his upper thigh, he would push back into the movement. 

A second finger is more of a stretch—it hurts in a way the first didn't, a slow, lingering ache starting up inside him, but Barret's fingers are still so slick that his body accepts it when Barret grips him tight and pushes him down onto it, and he bites back the cry he wants to let out as they breach him. It doesn't matter what he wants here. Barret is going to take what he wants from Hamid; all he can do is relax and accept it. He closes his eyes against the ache and tries to focus on the overwhelming burst of sensation as Barret's fingers push deeper inside him, opening him up for _more_ , later. A low curl of fear pools in him at the thought, making arousal turn sharp and painful in his belly. 

He's taken everything he possibly can, he thinks, his hips moving just a little to work back onto Barret's fingers, his hands curling into fists in the sheets, and then a third and a fourth finger both threaten him at once and the fear that has been bubbling under the surface comes up all at once to choke him. “I can't,” he manages, feeling the sheer girth of it against him, and Barret makes a disapproving noise and draws the two inside Hamid out all at once, leaving him shuddering and empty. 

“Shh,” Barret says, and with his clean hand, puts a finger against Hamid's lips. “You'll take what you're given.” 

His grip on Hamid's hip, this time, is tighter, brooking no argument, and he kneels up closer to keep Hamid's thighs spread. Hamid wants to close his eyes as he sees Barret wrap a hand around his cock and guide it downwards, pressing it against his hole. His heart beating so fast he can't think past it, and he is in the moment, _so very scared_. It's too big. It's not going to work. “Please,” he says, his voice shaking. He could roll over and offer his thighs again. Take Barret back into his mouth. But he feels so big against him—he can't _possibly_ \--

Barret lines himself and then pushes forward all at once, the head of his cock stretching Hamid open, and Hamid cries out, clutching at the sheets so hard he can feel the fabric tear. “I can't,” he says again, and tears bead at the corners of his eyes as Barret slowly, so slowly, pulls him onto his cock. It feels like it goes on forever, an immense, agonizing weight inside him, and he tries to squirm away, tries to fight it, but Barret pins both of his legs down and keeps up his forward movement like Hamid weighs nothing. Like he really is just a toy for Barret to hurt if he likes. He looks down at it, at the cock slowly forcing its way inside him, and he can _see_ it from the outside, a slowly growing bulge in his stomach that moves higher with every tiny rock of Barret's hips deeper into him. “ _Please_ ,” he tries again, and his voice cracks. He can't possibly take all of it. It's too big. He's too small, and it _hurts_. 

For a moment, Barret stills, and then he smiles, all teeth, and pushes in the rest of the way all at once, and Hamid's breath is punched out of him entirely. “You can,” he says, and reaches out a hand to stroke over the bulge in Hamid's belly, feeling the girth of himself from the outside. Hamid clutches at the sheets harder and wants to close his eyes more than anything, but he can't stop looking at it. At the concrete proof that Barret is all the way inside him like this. That Hamid is stuck on his cock, with no way to know when he'll be allowed off it. If he'll be allowed off it. Barret could keep him here all day if he liked. He's Barret's _pet_. 

“It looks good,” Barret says, low and crooning, ignoring the way tears are streaming from Hamid's eyes. Hamid lets go of the sheets with one shaking hand to feel the bulge of Barret's cock in him for himself, and Barret rocks his hips gently, one hand resting over his, his eyes alight with the dazed horror in Hamid's own eyes. Hamid bites his lip, trying to hold back the cries he wants to let out, trying to pull himself together, and then Barret's hand curls around his and presses down on the bulge _hard_ , and Hamid closes his eyes and _screams_. 

Barret fucks into him harder at that, hard enough to bruise, and every time Hamid lets his eyes open he can see the way Barret watches the bulge in his stomach that shifts every time he thrusts. “You're—big,” Hamid says, his voice shaking, because he knows Barret will like it, and maybe this will be over quicker if he does, and Barret smiles again. He wraps a hand around Hamid's cock, gone mostly soft from the pain, and Hamid throws his head back and moans at the sudden sensation, so overwhelming when combined with the pain and sheer size of Barret inside him that his brain can't process it at all. 

It's still too much, but the longer it goes on, the longer he sees the slide of Barret's cock inside him and the way it distorts his body, the more he can breathe through it. It's starting to feel _good_ , even as it still hurts, and he might hate that more than any of the rest of this. That being taken apart like this is something he can enjoy. Barret's hand is tight around his cock, and he lets himself go limp and give over to it entirely, moving his hips without thinking about it, chasing the pleasure around the edges of the pain. He'll have to do this again, after all; he has to allow himself to get used to it. 

When he comes, it's almost a surprise to him, his whole body overloaded, all of his nerves firing at once, and the world goes blank for an aching moment as Barret presses in so deeply he feels like he can feel it in his _throat_. His back arches hard and he grips the sheets tightly enough to tear again, and there are words coming out of his mouth, but he has no idea what they are. When he comes back to himself, Barret's hips are working faster, his forehead beading with sweat, but he's looking down at Hamid's hands with a naked fascination. 

Hamid looks down too. They're not hands. They're _claws_ , and he yelps with surprise, trying to squirm off Barret's cock again entirely on instinct as he brings them up closer to his face. Barret takes the claws and pins both to the bed, a greedy glint in his eye as he fucks in one last time and comes deep inside Hamid, so much for his little body that he feels like he could see the bulge from that from the outside too. 

“Well, you _are_ an interesting one,” Barret pants, still looking down at the strange, clawed things that are where Hamid's hands should be, and Hamid's breath hiccups.

“I'm—I don't know what--” he tries, breaking off into a shudder as Barret slowly pulls out of him; it feels like it takes forever, and even now, he can't believe he _took_ all of that. 

“No?” Barret asks, and brings one of Hamid's hands to his mouth and slowly runs his tongue down the strange, scaled skin. “Even better.” 

Maybe before, Hamid thinks, he would have been allowed to leave someday. Not now. Now Barret has found something _special_ in him. 

He closes his eyes and tries very hard not to think about anything at all.


End file.
